The Keener
by Sparrow Quill
Summary: Long before he was Captain Jack Sparrow of the legendary Black Pearl, he was an impoverished dreamer caught in the throes of revolution. Feeling he has nothing, Jack puts it all on the line, and finds he has more to lose than he thought.
1. Chapter 1

Near the end of _Swordplay_, Jack tells Meryl briefly about his past love, stating only that things did not work out between them, and that "she called herself Catriona." Since so many of my readers wanted to know more, here is the story of Jack's humble beginnings in a small town in southern Ireland. It is the story that started Jack and Emmaleanna's lives in a New World, the story of the woman who changed Jack forever.

Bear in mind that these events take place before Jack becomes the legendary Captain of the Black Pearl, so if he seems a little different from his cinematic character, it's because he hasn't become him yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Shocker.

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**Chapter One:**

"_Only the dead have seen the end of war."  
-Plato _

The sky was dark and grey, the air laced with a cold October breeze that sent shivers down Jack's spine. He stood upon the hill beside the freshly-shovelled mound of earth, staring into the distance absently. The constant winds that ate away at the lush hills of Curraig now caused the rough wooden cross that was stuck into the ground to tremble. He felt almost embarrassed to be standing there beside such a lowly pauper's grave. But the lowly pauper who now rested under the piles of dark soil was no common woman.  
Jack swallowed a lump in his throat. He had to remain strong. His mother was not coming back, and misery would do nothing to change that. The pale white hand of consumption had reached its way out of death's black cloak and taken hold of her shattered life, steering in down into the dark, into nothingness. He wasn't so much sad to see her die- he'd hardly seen the woman in the last three years, him working at a mill six towns over- as he was sad to see what his life was now doomed to become. Before, he'd had his own wages, his own apartment, had opportunities and a certain future. Now...  
Now he was very nearly alone, left with only his younger sister, who was a burden more than she was a blessing. She was only eleven years old, and it was hard enough to support himself, much less a child on top of that. His coarse black hair blew haphazardly about his pale face, and he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, drawing from inside of it a crumpled, dried rose, it's once proud red hue now faded to a sickly brown.  
He rolled the stem of the long-dead blossom around in his fingertips, ignoring the searing pain that it's thorn sent through his forefinger as it drew its share of blood. He let it drift into the wind, watching through blurry eyes as it fell onto the mound of earth silently.  
"You know, you can clip fresh ones over there in the rosehip bushes."  
Jack turned around to face a tall red-headed woman in a billowing black gown. Her skin looked pale in comparison to her vibrant hair, which blew freely about her slightly freckled but pleasant face. She looked about the same age as he, maybe a little younger, though her sea-green eyes held more years than he could see on her face. Unlike many of the people he had come in contact with in the graveyard, this girl had no tear stains on her cheeks, no handkerchief clutched between her fingers.  
"I'll remember that." He mumbled, resigning to leave, the presence of this newcomer making him slightly uneasy.  
"You're Marion Sparrow's son, aren't you?" She asked.  
He stopped and turned to her. "You knew her?"  
"No." The woman took a few steps closer to him. "I was- well, I am her funeral keener," She stammered.  
"Oh." He dropped his gaze, not wanting to show his disappointment. His mother had had very few friends in her lifetime, and right now Jack could use all the connections he could get. Unfortunately, this girl was not going to serve said purpose. "Have you come here to sing, then?"  
"Yes." She took a few steps closer to him and Jack noticed a faded red sash tied around her tiny waist over the black gown. "You can stay if you'd like."  
"It's alright." Jack brushed past her. "I have places to go..." He paused to ponder his words. Here he was, alone with his little sister, stuck in Curraig with no money for passage or lodging and no job. He had left his work and come to see his mother in her final days. He had nowhere to go now. Nowhere at all. "Actually, yeah, I'll stay." She smiled and as he held out his hand to her. "My name's Jack." He said as the shook hands. And when she did not respond, "Are you going to tell me your name?"  
"You can call me Catriona." She said coolly.  
"Catriona?" He asked.  
"Kit, if you must." She shrugged.  
Jack sat down beside the mound and patted the earth beside him, inviting Kit to sit down beside him.  
She complied, and a tense silence manifested between them. Kit was the first to break it.  
"Marion was your mother?" Jack nodded. "How did she die?"  
"Consumption." He said shortly.  
"Do you have any other family?"  
"A sister."  
"Ah."  
Jack eyed the woman next to him, his gaze resting on her slender waist, where the red sash had been tied. She was quite pretty, though she had too many freckles, and her red hair was blown about in disarray. He let his attentions rest on her foggy greenish-grey eyes, and linger there until he noticed that she had caught him staring.  
"Do you want something?" She asked pointedly. Jack shook his head. "Good."  
There was another long pause. "So are you going to sing or what?" He asked.  
"Fine, fine." Kit said, struggling to her feet. "Pushy little eajet, aren't you?" She muttered, brushing the dirt off of her skirts and stood up straight. Jack waited, wondering exactly what a funeral keener sang. She opened her mouth, and he felt a chill go down his backbone as she let out a cold, haunting wail that drifted melodically out over the hills. Jack found his eyes drawn to her form. She looked almost buried in her back dress, her sleeves and skirts billowing in the breeze, ripping around with the wind. His eyes fogged over and tears pressed from in behind them.  
Kit stopped. She looked concerned. "Are you going to be alright?"  
"I'll be fine." Jack managed, though he knew in the depth of his soul that he was lying through his teeth. His future was so uncertain now...  
"Come on." Kit held her hand out to him. "It's not good to linger here. It'll only depress you."  
"And where do you suggest I go?" He asked flatly.  
"You're not from around these parts, are you?"  
Jack scowled. "What's it to you?"  
She shrugged. "There's a pub near here. I'll buy you a drink."  
He gave a little half-smile that looked anything but genuine, and got to his feet. Kit smiled, and this time Jack returned the gesture in a much more genuine fashion. "Sounds good."  
The pair of them stumbled down the hillside, reaching the town just as the skies began to cloud over. Kit wound her way through the narrow streets expertly, finally coming upon a run-down old tavern, so called the _Sidhe_, as said the sign on the wall.  
Stepping inside the establishment, Jack's ears met with a dull roar of chatter and the bell-like sounds of glasses clinking. Kit made her way over to the counter and ordered two pints of something strong and dark. She handed one to Jack and they made their way over to a small wooden table in the corner. Jack plunked himself down miserably into a chair, and Kit slid into the one opposite him, studying him intently.  
"Gotten yourself a good enough view yet?" Jack asked irately.  
Kit broke her gaze, blushing slightly. "Sorry." She mumbled.  
"It's fine." Jack sighed.  
"You're worried, aren't you?" She spoke very fast, every word seemed to be growing out of the one that proceeded it. Jack nodded. "You're not the only thing you have to take care of now, am I right?"  
He nodded again. "Well, like I said, there's my sister Emmaleanna. She's eleven. She was living with mum, but now I guess she'll be in my care." He sighed. "I have to get out of Curraig."  
Kit frowned. "Why's that?"  
"No way to earn an honest living, that's why!" Jack snapped.  
His companion looked slightly taken aback at his irritable nature. "Where would you go?"  
He shrugged. "I'd like to make my way over to the new world… emigration seems to be the only escape these days. Maybe when I get there, I could work as a hired hand on a farm of sorts."  
"And your sister?"  
"That's the problem. I cant take her with me- she'd eat up all my wages."  
"You could leave her with a relative." Kit suggested.  
"Not possible." He sighed. "No relatives around her- leastways not ones I know. We're on our own. Nobody in the world." He glanced at Kit from over the rim of his glass. "The world doesn't want a eleven year old girl orphan, and I cant keep her by my lonesome. I should want to take a wife, but I cant do that even. No money to court with."  
"Oh how horrible for you." Her words were dripping with sarcasm.  
"You don't believe me!" Jack accused.  
Kit sighed. "You're not in such a fix as you think."  
"No?"  
"No. You could send your sister to be a home-child or such. That would free you up enough to earn money for a passage somewhere more prosperous."  
"And how do you propose I get her back, exactly?" Jack asked.  
Kit bit her lip. "Alright, fine, you think of a better solution."  
"That's whatabouts I'm doing, isn't it?"  
"Well if you're going to be like this then I'll just take my drink and go!" She got to her feet, glass in hand, looking rather indignant.  
"Don't go!" Jack called after her.  
Kit raised one eyebrow. "Oh, so you want me to stay now?"  
"Yes!"  
"Fine, I'll stay." She sank back down into her chair. "Where's your sister now?"  
"She's staying in mum's apartment." Jack said, his eyes wandering over the dimly-lit bar. "It's only a stone's throw away from here. The landlord's told us we can stay on without paying our rent for a week, no more."  
"And your mum?" Kit pried. "She had a job didn't she?"  
Jack glared at her. "She was a beggar. She lived off charity."  
"Oh." She lowered her eyes, trying to conceal the colour now rising in her cheeks.  
"Oh?"  
"Well what do you want me to say?" He was really beginning to bother her. Why did he have to be so...  
"Never mind." He muttered.  
"Look, I'm too warm. I'm going outside." She took to her feet. "It was nice meeting you." Kit turned and left the pub. Jack followed her. She whirled around to face him as they stepped out into what was now the dark drizzle of night. "What do you want now?"  
"It's dark." Jack said sombrely. "You shouldn't be walking alone."  
"I can take care of myself."  
"Let me take you home."  
"Excuse me?"  
"I meant," Jack pulled her back under the canopy of the entranceway. "I'll walk you home."  
Kit thought for a moment. "I live on the outskirts. You'd be walking at least thrice the distance as to your home."  
"Then let me walk you at least as far as I do."  
She smiled. "Fine."  
They took off into the night, and were swallowed up by the grey downpour that was now beating down upon the city. By the time they reached Jack's apartment, the drizzle had manifested itself into a full-blown storm. Kit consented to come upstairs with Jack for a few moments in order to dry off, but she quickly realized that making the rest of the journey home, through the narrow, winding streets, in the dark and in the rain, with the clay roads washing out from under her feet was virtually impossible.  
Jack opened the door to a scrubby-looking two-room apartment and Kit made her way in slowly. She heard the door click shut behind her and the next think she felt was a warm woollen blanket being draped around her shoulders.  
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you." Her eyes scanned the room. "Where's your sister?"  
"Asleep." Jack said, motioning to the doorway that lead into a tiny cramped bedroom. "Do you want to sit down?" Kit looked around, then realized there was really nothing in the way of furniture. Other than a tiny table and a few cupboards, the room was bare. "The chairs were sold to pay for the doctor." Jack explained.  
Kit nodded and happily sat herself down upon the dented wood floor. Jack did the same, pulling a sheet of paper off of the table as he did so. He handed it to her. "That's the bills."  
Kit looked it over, stumbling clumsily over the larger words. "I see what you mean." She said. Any earning potential Jack had was immediately cancelled out by the expenses of his little sister. "This looks pretty tight. I-"  
There was a faint crack of thunder in the distance. Jack whistled. "Don't get that very often."  
"No." Kit agreed. "It'll be a tough walk home."  
"You're not honestly thinking of heading home in this storm, now are you?"  
"What other option do I have?"  
"You could stay the night here." Jack suggested. "There's a sort of sleeping mat in Emmaleanna's room, if you want."  
Kit bit her lip, as she always did when entertaining an idea. And this one particularly, seemed much more welcoming than the prospect of walking home in the downpour. After a few moments, she smiled and nodded affirmatively. For some reason, she trusted Jack. He had lost his mother... he seemed somehow bent and broken by the world, and this caused him to be so very genuine towards everything around him. She glanced at him through the curtain that was her rain-drenched red hair. "You're sweet."  
It was thus that, yawning and rubbing her eyes, little Emmaleanna Sparrow entered the scene, having been awoken by the thunder and intrigued by the sound of voices in the next room.  
It was Jack who first noticed the little girl's presence. At being acknowledged, Emmaleanna quickly nodded to her brother and ducked back into her bedroom timidly.  
Kit smiled as Jack returned his attentions to her. "She's a little scared of me, I guess."  
"Where do you get that idea?" Jack asked.  
Kit nodded towards the room. "She's quick to disappear at the sight of me. I must look like some sort of hobgoblin, my hair in heaps like it is."  
"No." Jack tried. "No, she's just shy."  
Kit snorted. "Right."  
"You don't believe me again!" He accused.  
"Should I?"  
Jack just smiled and headed over to one of the cupboards, seemingly being used as a closet. He grabbed a few dry garments off it's shelves and tossed a dry shirt onto the floor beside his feet.  
"I imagine you'll be needing dry clothing?" Jack asked.  
Kit surveyed her wet self. "I suppose... yes. That would be nice."  
Jack rummaged in the cupboard and produced an off-white cotton nightdress. "Here. This is Emmaleanna's. She's supposed to grow into it."  
Kit took it gratefully, then looked around for a place to change. Jack smiled and bowed out of the room graciously, waiting until his guest had successfully struggled into her new garments before re-entering. The gown was a little tight in the chest and hips, but it was clothing, and it was dry, and for Kit, that made all the difference.  
"Where can I leave this?" Kit asked, motioning to the soggy black heap that was her gown.  
"Wherever you want." Jack said, dragging a few blankets and cushions out onto the floor and attempting to arrange them into some form of a bed. "It's not like there's really any true organization to this place."  
Kit looked around, finally settling on the lone little table as a clothesline for her sopping garment. She wrung her hair out in her fists, letting the water dribble onto the dress.  
"The sleeping mat's in the next room." Jack said as Kit turned around. "There's a quilt on it, and a few cushions. I hope that'll be enough."  
"That'll be fine." She smiled and quickly left the room. Jack stared after her for a moment before sinking down amidst the itchy blankets, trying hard not to let the cold discomfort of the floorboards get to him. The roof above him began to leak, letting out a rhythmic pulse of putrid rainwater. He grimaced and closed his eyes with a quiet and disgusted resolve.  
Kit poked her head around the door frame, spotting Jack in his decidedly uncomfortable makeshift bed. "Jack ?"  
He opened his eyes. "Mm?"  
"Thank you."  
He smiled briefly. "No trials at all."

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Please review!

-SQ


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

Kit awoke feeling cozy and rested, and for a fleeting moment she couldn't quite place the source of such warmth, until the fleecy fabric of the quilt fell gently onto her face. She hadn't slept well for the last few months, and now guessed that she was the first on this damp morning to wake.  
A small noise from the other room quickly proved her theory incorrect. Emmaleanna must have awoken, she thought. Kit slid out of bed quietly so as not to wake Jack , who had moved his makeshift bed onto the rag-rug in the archway between the two rooms, and made her way sleepily out into the for-everything room. Sure enough, Emmaleanna was sitting on the floor by the window, a chunk of what resembled stale bread in her hand.  
"Good morning." Kit said, trying to be sociable.  
"Who are you?" The girl demanded, her voice quivering slightly.  
Kit smiled and sat down beside her timidly. "My name's Catriona. Or Kit, if you like. I'm a friend of your brother's. I got stuck here because of the rain."  
The younger girl nodded slowly. "What were you here for?"  
"I was helping Jack with the bills... well, trying to help anyway." Kit took a chunk of bread that Emmaleanna handed her and devoured it ravenously.  
"We're poor, aren't we?" Emmaleanna asked.  
Kit stared at the girl for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose... But we're all poor, if you think about it."  
This seemed to brighten Emmaleanna's mood a little, though her expression retained much of it's despondency.  
"Good to see you've met my sister." Jack trudged into the room, smiling. His smile faded quickly, however, when he saw the sober looks on both girl's faces. "Something wrong?"  
"No." Emmaleanna said.  
"No." Kit iterated.  
Jack didn't look convinced, but he gave it up and resigned himself to grabbing his own chunk of bread for breakfast. He plunked himself down beside Kit and asked, "So I suppose you'll be wanting an escort home, the roads being so washed out."  
"T'would be nice, but it's not a job for you."  
"Why not?"  
Kit stared at him sceptically. "What good would it do me to have an out-of-towner try to help a long-time Curraig girl navigate these winding streets in the rain?"  
Jack shrugged. "Well if you wanted to go alone-"  
"Yes thank you." Kit took to her feet, made slightly uncomfortable by the silence from Emmaleanna. Kit grabbed her dress off of the table and pulled it on over her head, tying the red sash rather hastily. "Well, Jack, thank you for letting me in out of the rain, but I really should go." She paused at the door. "It was nice meeting you, Emmaleanna."  
Jack took to his feet and scrambled out the door after her, catching her just as she was making her way down the rotting walk-up steps. "Wait!" He called.  
She turned around. "Do you want something?"  
"You're leaving that quickly?"  
"I have to get home."  
Jack searched for an excuse to make her stay longer. Something about having her around made his uncertain future seem a little less cruel, a little warmer. "You're sure you don't want an escort?"  
"Thank you, I'm sure." Kit took a few more steps down the stairway.  
"Wait!" Jack grabbed her shoulders, now desperately searching his mind for an excuse to prolong their goodbyes. "You're wearing Emmaleanna's nightgown under that!"  
"I'll be by to return it when the rain lets up." Kit said.  
"You promise?" Jack felt his heart leap in his chest. She would come back.  
"Yes!" She said, a little uneasy in light of his reluctance to let her leave. "I promise. Goodbye Jack Sparrow." And with that she passed the rest of the steps and made her way out into the grey mass of rain that now engulfed the washed-out streets.  
"Goodbye Kit!" He yelled over the din of the pattering grey raindrops.  
She rolled her eyes, waved at him, and went on her way. The roads were slippery, laced with little ribbons of water and sludge, and thus her walk home took over an hour. When she finally arrived at the old stone house, muddy, irritated, and soaked to the bone, she stumbled in through the back door, walking straight into Miss Leda, owner and tyrant of the Stone House, where Kit rented out a corner bedroom.  
"Where have you been?" She demanded.  
Kit shrunk back towards the wooden door. The woman could be downright fearsome sometimes. "I got caught in the rain." She explained. "The city roads were washed out, I couldn't get home."  
"Well I presumed as much!" Miss Leda snapped. "I asked where were you, not why you were there."  
"I was at a friend's house." Kit said timidly.  
Miss Leda eyed her sceptically. "Uh huh. And what would be this friend's name, Catriona?"  
Kit winced at the use of her true name, a tell-tale sign that Miss Leda was genuinely angry. "Her name's Emmaleanna." She said, content that this was not technically a lie.  
"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Niamh, one of Miss Leda's bratty daughters chanted, bouncing out from behind her mother, a triumphant grin plastered on her juvenile little face.  
"What are you on about?" Kit hissed. Niamh's favourite past-time was getting the tenants into as much trouble as possible.  
"Niamh here says she saw you in town yesterday evening, in the pub, drinking. With a _man_." Miss Leda emphasized her last word with a feeling of disgust and disdain. "Catriona, you pay your bed and board by way of labour. The floor is not going to sweep itself while you're away, and you're damned if you think I'm about to do it for you!"  
"Madam, please I didn't-" Miss Leda held up her hand to hush Kit's defence. "But Madam, it's not like I-"  
"Go upstairs and dry off." Miss Leda commanded. "I'll send you up something to eat. Wait in your room. We'll talk." She surveyed the drenched girl critically for a moment. "Now!"  
Kit took up her skirts and raced up the stairs, relieved to reach her room, where fresh clothing was plentiful and the roof failed to leak. She stripped off her sopping dress and nightgown, slipping into a more comfortable and worn green dress. She sat on her bed and pondered what exactly Miss Leda would talk to her about. She did not have long to wonder.  
There was a muffled knock at the door and her mother entered, carrying in her hands a breakfast tray. Kit reached for the food eagerly, but Miss Leda placed it just out of reach, sitting upon the night-stand, and drew herself up to her full menacing height.  
"Catriona," She began quietly, "When we settled upon the arrangements for your room, I said a third of your wages plus you would do housekeeping chores for me. You agreed to this. Now Catriona, this is not a charity home. And as far as your cavorting alone with a man... I'd like to maintain this home's reputation."  
"I understand, Madam." Kit said lethargically.  
"The other girls had to pick up the slack yesterday." Miss Leda continued. "It wasn't fair to them, they have jobs too."  
"The floor can go unswept for a day without falling out from under our feet, Miss Leda." Kit mumbled.  
"Excuse me?" Leda gasped. "Here I am, all about to forgive you, and I get sass from you, girl, don't I? Well, maybe I'll turn you out into the streets and see how far a smart mouth gets you there, aye?"  
Kit sneezed. "I'm sorry, Miss Leda." She said nasally. "I'll try to be…" Sneeze. "…more conscientious."  
"Better." Miss Leda sniffed. "And where do you come off sniffling like that?"  
"I think…" Sneeze. "…I'm a little…"  
"Ill." Leda said shortly. "And I cant have a housekeeper who's lying in bed, now, that wont help me much, will it? You'll need today's rest to recover. And you're not to go into town for three days."  
"_Three days_?!" Kit protested. "But Madam, that's pounds and pounds worth of keening jobs!"  
Miss Leda shrugged. "You will do as I say. Now, eat up." She handed Kit the breakfast tray and bustled out of the room. Kit picked at the bread and potato soup lazily, her appetite having vanished along with her week's earning potential and her chances of keeping her word and returning the nightdress to Jack. She sneezed and flopped down across her bed, staring up at the drab, watermarked ceiling.  
Thus it was that Kit spent the next three days, moping about her room, sometimes going downstairs for some bread, and occasionally taking a stroll in the half-drowned gardens. Keening was something she loved- strange as it sounded, she felt at home amongst the black-clad mourners and rose-covered coffins. Everyone in Curraig seemed to be consumed by their own personal hell, but seeing so much of death gave Kit a sort of cynical hope. No matter how bad things got, no matter how unfair life became, death would come for all. It was an equalizer that kept the bitter, questioning voice in her mind muted. And besides, she liked being able to support herself, liked knowing she could leave Miss Leda's house if she had to. Not that she would want to. Without keening, she was plunged into withdrawal.  
Until, that is, the third day of her punishment, when she was awoken from her daydreams by the clatter of pebbles being thrown against her casement window.

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Please review!

-SQ


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the replies, _rockangels17_ and _mypiratecat1_. As requested, the story goes on...

**Chapter Three:**

Kit stumbled out of bed and made her way over to the window. Her hands found the crank and she managed to open the pane of fogged-up glass enough that she might lean her head out of it and find the source of the noise below. Her weary eyes rested on the familiar form of a medium-height, scrawny boy standing alone in the front garden.  
"Jack!" She gasped.  
He smiled. "You didn't keep to your word."  
"Who did you -? What are you -? Why did -? …how did you get here?" She stammered finally.  
"Come on out and I'll answer." He propositioned, grinning.  
Kit moved out onto the tract of roof that lay directly below her window. "How in Jesus' name did you find me?" She hissed.  
"I followed you."  
Kit frowned. "Oh I feel so respected," She sassed.  
Jack let a look of false hurt slip across his face. "Fine, I'll leave."  
"No wait!" She placed a hand up. "Don't go. I've been so bored lately..."  
He smiled. "I might stay… if you asked nicely."  
Kit rolled her eyes. "_Please _don't go."  
"That's better." Jack teased.  
"So what did you really come here for?"  
"What do you mean?" Jack asked. "I told you- you never returned the nightdress."  
Kit snorted. "As if you walked for an hour in this drizzle for a nightdress." She paused thoughtfully. "You haven't been evicted yet, have you?"  
"Not yet, God willing." He shifted his feet in the mud so that the ground wouldn't swallow him up where he stood. "I've been scouring the shipyards for a vessel that will take me and my sister."  
"And?"  
"Nobody will." He sighed. "I asked around for a charity home or an orphanage of sorts but there isn't one I could find that would agree to take her in so easy."  
Kit smiled weakly. "I'll keep my ears open for you, Jack ."  
"Much gratitude." He smiled to cover his discomfort at standing idly in the rain. "Now about why I came… I wanted to ask if you felt like a drink. You buy me one, I buy you, we're even."  
"Oh," Kit laughed a little. "thank you, but no thank you."  
"Why not?"  
"Miss Leda, the woman in charge, she wouldn't like it if I went running off to town with some stranger."  
He grinned. "Miss Leda doesn't have to know."  
"But," Kit protested, "I cant just, just-"  
"Sneak out?" Jack's hands beckoned to her feverishly. "Come on, it'll be fine."  
"I... Well, I..." Kit felt a sort of yearning stir in her, something she had never felt before, something that Jack's stupid ideas seemed to awaken in her head. It was like a strange, inexplicable need to take risks, to do something utterly foolish and reckless. "Alright fine. One drink. But it'll be your arse getting the boot if I'm found out, aye?"  
Jack smiled and offered her his hand, watching to be sure she made her way to the ground safely. Whence she was safely down the wall, Jack grabbed her hand in his own and took off away from the lawn.  
She felt her breath quicken, exhilaration coursing through her body as they ran. Jack's hand seemed to fit hers so well, and as he pulled her behind him, it felt as if an immeasurable supply of energy was flowing from his fingertips into hers. They kept up the pace for as long as was possible, until finally, after five minutes, both Jack and Kit collectively decided it was time for a breather. He sank down onto the muddy road, pulling his lady down with him.  
She winced as the cold sludgy water seeped into her dress. "So," she gasped, "how far to these drinks you speak of?"  
He shrugged. "Another hour?"  
"God's love, I'll be skinned alive if I'm out that long!"  
Jack grinned. "So what do you suggest we do?"  
Kit pasted a thoughtful look on her face, though in reality she was already decided in her actions. Her right hand dug into the muddy ground, taking up between its fingers a good handful of sopping wet brown clay. "Well, let me see, I could always..."  
And the handful made contact with Jack's face. Kit laughed, then gasped as another mud-ball was hurled right back at her. Jack tackled her, pinning her wrists down. Kit tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation of rivers that were now trickling down her back. Jack's hand swept up to her face, smearing a great brown clump of clay into her fiery hair.  
Kit squirmed and rolled out from under him. She leapt to her feet and took off, running back in the direction from which they had just came. Her head start gave her a jump on the chase, and so Jack did not catch her until she had climbed back up the lattice to her room and was preparing to shut the casement on him.  
She stepped back abruptly, sending poor scrawny Jack falling through the window, landing with a clatter and a thump. He looked up at her from his pathetic position, crumpled on the floor, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. "Ouch, cheater."  
The door rattled. Kit spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. "Miss Leda." She breathed. Her next actions were almost instinctive. Grabbing Wes by the collar of his poor, muddy shirt, she half-dragged him across the floor, shoving him into the small space between the bureau and the bed. "Stay quiet." She ordered.  
Kit dashed over to the window and cranked the casement shut, pulled a night-robe on over her muddy clothing, and finally lifted the bolt of the door.  
Miss Leda entered, surveying her critically. "I heard a clatter, what were you doing, Catriona?"  
"There was a... a..." She thought hard. An idea struck. "There was a huge spider crawling on top of the casement." Kit lied. "I reached up to squash it and lost my footing."  
The older woman rolled her eyes. "Good Heavens, child, how many times must I tell you, leave your filthy jobs to the hired boy?"  
"Yes, Madam." Kit said submissively, bowing her head.  
"And wipe your hands, they're muddy." Miss Leda ordered, the meaning behind such an observation lost on the speaker herself.  
"Yes, Madam." Kit repeated.  
Miss Leda turned to leave, pausing as she stepped out of the door. "Oh and Catriona? Next time the hired boy comes to clean for you, tell him to fix the leaky casement. There's a filthy puddle collected under it." And with a bustling swish of her skirts, she was gone.  
Jack dragged himself out of his cramped hiding place, walking with all the stiffness characteristic of such unwanted physical activity. "Spider indeed." He laughed.  
Kit raised one eyebrow. "You think of a better excuse, then."  
Jack's eyes flashed daringly. "How about telling her that you were chased by something that crawled in through the casement window."  
"A filthy something, to tell the truth." Kit laughed, then stifled a sneeze.  
"A spider?" Jack suggested.  
She grinned. "A rat, more like. Now get out of here before Miss Leda decides to come back and check up on me."  
He bowed mockingly. "As you command, your royal highness."  
"Oh shut it!"  
His face turned more serious. "When will you be coming back into town?"  
"Tomorrow." Kit said. "Why so interested?" Her eerie eyes flashed coyly.  
"Not interested at all..." He paused. "In four days I'll be evicted unless I can find meself a decent paying job of sorts."  
"I told you I'll keep my ears open." Kit said, shooing him towards her window.  
He smiled, and said in a very prissy voice, sounding very much like Miss Leda, "Goodbye, Cat-ree-ah-nah!" And with a swoop out of the foggy glass, he was gone.  
Kit sighed, shaking her head and smiling to herself. "Knob." She muttered. Her feet were encrusted with sludge and rainwater, and a thin coat of mud covered her long, spindly fingers.  
She shivered, heading over to her bureau and pulling out her only remaining clean nightgown. The sun was setting, and red, warm light was streaming in through her foggy casement. In the distance, she could hear hoof beats. She pulled the nightgown on over her head, releasing her crimson hair from it's braid.  
The sound of the hoof beats grew, and with it came another sound, a familiar one, one that any true native to Curraig knew all too well.  
The sound of flames as they ate away at the thatched roof of some poor tenant's home.

* * *

Please review!

-SQ


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: **

Kit raced to the casement and cranked it open, leaning her head out the window. On the road ahead of her, several men were charging on horseback, torches in hand, setting ablaze any house they happened upon. She shuddered. The landlords were cruel players in the game of life. The rent was jacked up by the month now, land was getting hard to keep. And the Stone House did not belong to Miss Leda, nor to any of the girls. The rent was paid by an old benefactor, Mr. Kells, who lived in a poor little shanty just up the road.  
One that was now engulfed in flames.  
Mr. Kells had not paid his own rent - surely that meant he had not paid the rent on the Stone House! They would be torched along with him. She could not stay here. They were going to be burned alive.  
Kit stumbled back from the window, lifting the bolt on her door. She had to get out. Had to, had to, had to. She raced down the hallway. "Miss Leda!" She cried. "Miss Leda!" No answer, save for the sound of screams rising in the distance, and the echo of her own voice as she stumbled down the wooden stairs. "Niamh? Lizzie? Sarah? Nell?" She croaked. "Anyone?!"  
They must have gotten out already.   
She made for the door, bursting out into the muddy courtyard. Nobody was in sight. A faint whinny sounded from the other side of the house, and suddenly golden-red flames crept up over the peak of the straw roof, their greedy tongues licking mercilessly at the only home that Kit had ever known. She turned from the scene and made her way slowly out to the open field, eyes wide in disbelief, terror consuming her.  
"Why hello there, Missy." A sinister voice drawled from behind her. She spun around, eyes meeting with the frame of a man on horseback, torch in hand, silhouetted against the light of the smouldering house. His voice had all the crispness of an English accent, but it was looser, somehow. "Where do you think you're off to?"  
"Leave me be." Kit warned, her voice quivering.  
The man dismounted his steed clumsily, swaggering over to her, torch still clutched in his hand. The secret behind his loose accent was quickly revealed in the smell of cheap whiskey that hung about him. He muttered something, of which Kit only caught "…slugs learn to pay your rent..." His pistol clicked in readiness.  
Fear had gotten the better of all of her senses. She couldn't move, couldn't speak - hell, she could hardly breathe.   
"Come on, now, you-"  
There was a painful crack as a rifle went off somewhere to the right of our heroine. The man crumpled into a bloody heap onto the mud beneath his expensive leather riding boots.  
_The price on those boots would've fed these families for a month…_  
Jolted awake from her trance of fear, she ducked, not wanting to meet with whoever the shooter was. The flames now illuminated her eyesight completely, so that all she could see was her immediate surroundings, as though her senses were caged in a fiery haze.  
Someone pulled her to her feet urgently. She clenched her eyes shut, until a familiar voice gasped out, "No time, we have to go!" Her eyes opened and Jack's face filled her sight, lit by the flaming homes that were going up all around the countryside. "Quickly!" He urged. "You can thank me later!"  
Kit felt herself being lifted up onto the horse of the now unconscious landlord. Jack mounted it in front of her, and instinctively, she slid her hands around his middle and clung for dear life. The next half an hour disappeared into her memory as an abyss of screams, flames, ash, soot, and smoke. It was as if she had closed her eyes to this awful, hellish nightmare, and then opened them and found herself being lead back into the Sparrow's apartment, shaken, but otherwise unharmed.  
He sat her down onto Emmaleanna's bed and then himself crumpled down at the foot of it, resting his back against the headboard. "You okay?"  
Kit nodded. "Thank you," She gasped.  
He shrugged, a little too casually to seem authentic. "No trials at all."  
She glanced at him timidly, afraid to even ask the question that was plaguing her. "Did... did you see Madam - I mean, did you see Miss Leda along the road?"  
Jack nodded. "The awful woman? I did. She had a few little girls with her, but I was afraid to stop and help. The horse was on the verge of spooking as it was, you know?"  
Kit nodded, relieved but not exactly contented. She sat up and shifted over so that she might lie her head against Jack's chest. He smiled and drew his arms around her comfortingly. His chest rose and fell beneath her head with each passing breath, its steady rhythm lulling sleep into her restless soul.  
They remained this way the rest of the night, not bothering to lie down, to wipe the mud from their feet, nor even to greet Emmaleanna as she came rushing in, safe, despite her venturing out to aid a few families in finding a dwelling for the night. Jack did not bother to scold her for disobeying him, for going where he had commanded she not go. There was no need for words tonight. All explanation, all hatred, all grudges, and all need for retaliation, all that could wait until the dawn. Now was a time for weeping, for sleeping, for and just being.  
It was a time of recovery for restless human hearts. But our hearts are mortal, and filled, sometimes, with hatred, with violence, and, in the case of Kit, or more particularly, Jack, with revenge.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

Kit stumbled up the steps to the walk-up apartment she had called home for the last two days. Her hands were stained with ash and soot from sifting through the charred remains of the now gutted Stone House. She had recovered few of her former treasures, these now amounting to only an old twisted silver bracelet and two smoke-stained dresses. The silver, she had decided, must be sold to help the Sparrows with the rent. The dresses, however, were worthless, their practical value aside.  
She shuddered, in her mind's eye the image of her childhood home, eaten away by the greedy flames of men wrongfully styling themselves as masters of the land. It is a sight no human being should have to see; a home, a place of laughter, of love, something that had seemed so solid, reduced to a blackened, skeletal frame unfit for habitation.  
Kit's fingers found their way to the doorknob, and she twisted it, opening into a sight well deserving of her startled jump backwards. Jack's apartment was filled to the bursting with men, poor men, simple men, young men. Their voices flooded from the tiny dwelling in a dull but excited roar. Kit made her way in timidly, eyes unable to locate Jack in the dense forest of energetic young men. She pushed her way through the crowd, making for one of the cupboards, where she could stash away what was left of her possessions.  
"Hey!" Jack's voice called out authoritatively. The crowd parted and Kit could see him standing close to the door of the bedroom. "Kit!"  
"A few friends over?" Kit asked coolly.  
Jack smiled. "Wait and see."  
An older, scruffy-looking man cried out from the crowd. "Hey Jack, why don't you off and tell us what you've dragged our sorry drunken arses over here to do."  
"You know what I've called you here for." Jack said soberly.  
"Aye," A tall, broad-shouldered man about Jack's age spoke up, grinning. "We know why we're here- but what's the scullery maid doing hereabouts?" He nodded jokingly towards Kit.  
"You're walking uncertain ground, Kenneth." Jack warned, though his grin didn't falter for a minute.  
Kit, however, was not amused. "Scullery maid about to shove a boot up your arse."  
Kenneth laughed. "You've got wit, girl, I'll give you that."  
Kit glared right through him. "Who do you think you are?"  
He held out his hand to her. "Kenneth O'Shaughnessy."  
She shook it curtly. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure."  
"I'm sure I could show you pleasure where you want it, girl." Kenneth grinned.  
"Well from where I'm standing -" Kit glanced pointedly below his belt, "- you certainly do know a lot about _wanting_."  
Someone whistled. Someone whooped.  
Kenneth just laughed. "You got a name to go with that sharp tongue, lady?"  
"If I do, it's not something you need to know."  
Jack smiled. Kit was one of the most thoroughly amusing people he'd ever met, but now it was time for business. "Kenneth, give the lady some breathing space, will you?" He turned to the men. "In case some of you have been too drunk off your heads for the past two days to notice-" There was an audible snicker from the group. "-our beloved landlords took the liberty of burning down many of our poor Curraig homes."   
"Bastards." Kenneth muttered, the warm, teasing glow in his eyes replaced with a more sober look of stone, the sort of expression Kit had seen countless men wear as they carried their beloved dead to a final resting place.  
"We're going to make them pay for what they've done!" Someone cried. The men let up an angry cheer.  
Kenneth was next to raise his voice. "Tomorrow at sundown, we meet at the Iron Gates to the landlord's manor. Take up arms- if we do not rise up, they will trample upon us until there's not a child left of our people. We were here first!" Another cheer. "This is our land!" And again. "Tomorrow!"   
"Tomorrow!" The men cried, letting up a final cry before bustling in true mob-fashion out the door. Kit could hear them take up song in the streets as they celebrated their plans, their newfound illusions of strength. The apartment was nearly empty now, only Kenneth remained.  
Kit, finding herself made quite uncomfortable by his presence, retreated to the bedroom and curled herself up on Emmaleanna's bed. Outside in the main room, Kenneth cornered Jack.  
"Made a radical out of yourself, have you, Sparrow?"  
He nodded. "Someone has to."  
"Rounding up seven town's worth of 'old friends'?" Kenneth smiled jokingly. "It's for the girl, isn't it? She's a looker, that one."  
"I didn't notice." Jack said casually.   
"Wouldn't tell me her name." Kenneth continued.  
Jack rolled his eyes. "And I expect now you'll be asking me to tell you?"  
"That would be the general request, yes."   
He sighed. "Look man, go after Kit if you want, just keep her out of trouble when you do, aye?"  
"Out of trouble?" Kenneth asked. "She's living with Curraig's newest warlord - how much trouble could I possibly get her into?"  
Jack laughed. "Get out of here, you half-wit!" And with a push from his friend, Kenneth was off to join his fellow villagers in drunken bouts of song. Jack made his way into the bedroom where Kit was sitting on the bed, staring listlessly at the braided rag-rug on the floor. "You certainly made yourself a friend there."  
Kit looked disgusted. "Who, Kenneth?" He nodded. "Some _friend _he'd make."  
Jack laughed and sat down next to her. "You're off your head, Kit." He sighed contentedly.  
"I'm coming with you and the boys tomorrow, Jack." Kit mumbled, eyes still fixed on the rug.  
"Said what?" He managed through a yawn.  
"To the Iron Gates with the men."  
Jack felt himself shaken awake again. "You cant come!"  
"Why not?"  
"You're a..." Jack had not known Catriona long, but he knew that to say 'woman' as his next word would not have been a wise choice. His companion, as he had found, riled at the prospect of herself being associated with weakness in any way. "...little inexperienced in combat."  
"So are most of the boys going with you." Kit propped herself up on her elbows. "I should be allowed to go, too."  
Jack snorted. "Give me one good reason and I'll grant you my blessings."   
"Not that I need them, but I have a fine reason- I've been hurt just as much as anyone else by those tyrants styling themselves our landlords. Why shouldn't I be allowed to thrust them in and slit them from navel to throat?"  
Jack grimaced. "A little violent, are we?"  
"Not without reason."  
There was a long pause as Kit waited for her answer. She stared at Jack intently. He sighed. "Fine, you can come."  
Kit felt as if she might kiss him in gratitude, so much so that she jumped from the bed and took a few steps back just to be sure she'd contain herself. "Thank you so much." She breathed.  
"Don't mention it." Jack said, wondering slightly what all this was about. "Now go to bed, for Christ's sake." He quickly realised the error of said comment. "I mean... to floor. To sleep on the floor, I meant. Well, not the floor, not that you have to, I mean. Just..." He gave up. "Look, you want to sleep or no?"  
"Yes please." Kit slid down onto the rug, her body aching with fatigue. She shivered. Jack noticed, and was quick to shrug out of his blankets and drape them over her gently. She smiled. "You don't have to... I'll be fine."  
"Sure?" he asked.  
Kit nodded, but Jack didn't bother taking his blankets back.  
The door creaked open and Emmaleanna entered. Taking a quick glance at her brother's friend, the stony-faced girl shrugged and hopped into her tiny one-man cot, snuggling under the covers.  
"Put out the candle, will you?" She mumbled.   
Kit got to her feet shakily and blew out the little stub of burning wax and wick that sat on the shelf. She climbed back into the blankets and sighed wearily. Her eyes fluttered closed.  
They opened again a half-hour later. Jack was breathing steadily in his low bed, his face content and peaceful. Kit sat up. She waved a hand in front of his eyes to be sure he was sleeping. No movement. Confident that she was unwatched, Kit let her eyes settle on his soft young features. There was something decidedly handsome about him, his face an exotic mixture of something sweet and something rough. Or perhaps it was all sweet. Perhaps she only though him rough because of the rising he was leading tomorrow evening.  
"Do you love my brother?"  
Kit jumped as Emmaleanna's youthful, sing-song voice broke the stiff night time silence. She blushed, her eyes just barely making out the dark shape of Jack's fully-awake sister who was sprawled casually across her cot. "What?"  
"Do you love him?" She asked again.  
Kit swallowed, stumbling clumsily over her words. "Well, I..."  
"You're not like the others." Emmaleanna interrupted.  
Kit frowned. "The others?"  
"I told you didn't I?" Both girls climbed quietly from their beds, though Kit's was only a rag-rug. "The other girls he's been smitten with."  
"Smitten?" Kit and Emmaleanna made their way out onto the step of the walk-up so as not to wake Jack with their conversation. "What were the others like?"  
Emmaleanna snorted. "All daft, twittering harlots, them. But you... you have a mind, don't you?"  
The older girl laughed. "I should hope so."  
"You'll put him in his place when he gets too out of line?"  
Kit shrugged. "If I have to."  
Emmaleanna smiled a little, a contented look coming over her face. "Good." She said happily. "We could use someone like you around here." And she spun around, heading back inside, back to bed, back to sleep.   
But for Kit, sleep had always been an alternate reality, not something she could command, or even wholly grasp. She stayed standing on the step until her eyes could no longer stay open, at which point she made her way back to the bed beside Jack. But even then, she was restless.  
Not because he was so near, not because these new feelings confused her or because she had just forged the most sisterly relationship she'd ever had. No.  
It was for one simple reason; tomorrow evening at dusk, outside the Iron Gates.   
Then those bastards would see what it was like to have your life shattered in one burst of flaming light, and all that was right and good is gone.  
_Tomorrow… _


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay, I've been so busy lately. Please review!

**Chapter Six: **

Kit had never seen a night like this. The air was not cool or cold, but seemed to hold no temperature at all. There was no breeze to speak of, and every star in the heavens seemed to have disappeared, though the skies did not threaten rain. Everything seemed so still, so quiet, as if Curraig itself was holding its breath.  
They walked in silence, Jack and Kit, Kit and Jack, side by side, both clutching their weapons sombrely. Occasionally, Kit would glance at her companion through her messy red hair, studying him, his stony face, his steely eyes, the strong set of his jaw. But Jack's attentions never wavered from the road ahead.  
The Iron Gate came into view, high, cold, unearthly in the torchlight billowing from the crowd of angry men who stood at it's foot. Kit felt a shiver race down her spine. She began to wonder if it had been foolish to come. But as long as Jack was beside her, she felt strong. Which actually, in a sense, made her feel weaker, because she had always worked to be independent.  
Jack made his way to the front of the crowd, and Kit lingered back. Someone tapped her left shoulder.  
"Fighting like a man?" Kenneth smiled at her.   
Kit bit back the urge to slug him and managed to keep her expression civil. "Better than fighting like a child. Why, think I shouldn't be?"  
"Not at all." He brushed one hand through his dirty blonde hair. "It's about time we got some of our women out here to show those bastards just how strong the common people are." Kit couldn't help but smile. "God with you."   
She nodded. "And you."  
It was not the first time Kit had recited the old blessing of good will, a blessing that's religious significance had evaporated in all but the actual wording. But this time it seemed to hold a slight bit more depth. Kenneth brushed past her and made his way up to where Jack stood, giving his rousing and inspiring speech, of which Kit had heard none. She let up a cheer with the men as they rushed upon the barrier that stood between them and their target.  
An angry mob can make short work of the locks and chains that secure an ornate wrought-iron gate. Kit only watched as it was finally forced to yield, and then took to her feet and rushed through. Her eyes followed Jack as he lead the sea of shouting men. He smashed a plate-glass window and forced his way into the landlord's house, a few men following him.  
Hoof beats resounded from somewhere behind her, and Kit whirled around. A few mounted guards charged on the rear of the fevered procession. She grabbed her pistol, suddenly aware that she had never killed a man before.  
But these rich folk, in her mind, they were not men. No man can burn down another's home, leave their children to starve in the streets and then buy a mansion and build an empire on such blood-stained wealth. Not men, no, these were animals. And her finger found the trigger, letting a burst of sound crack from the gun.  
And she shot. She killed. And she was astounded, so astounded suddenly, by how _easy _it was. A second shot fired, and it became easier still. The men began to tumble one by one from the seats of their horses, as the mob of angry villagers let out countless shots. Kit took in step and ran towards the house.  
Her breath caught in her throat. Flames licked at it's stony walls now, spewing madly from the broken windows and gashes made in the once-solid walls. And Jack had been inside... hadn't he? Wasn't he? Was he _still_?  
Her pace quickened. The landlord's manor loomed up before her in all it's falling glory. In a blur of red and orange, she threw herself in through the open doors and into the smoky entranceway. Men and women were running hither and thither, some looting, some running for their lives, and some, like Kit, looking for a loved one.  
Loved-?  
She raced into the parlour, then out, into the dining hall and out again, the music room, the drawing room, the study, up the stairs, rushing around random rooms, calling Jack's name, eyes searching frantically for any sign of her beloved.  
Beloved-?  
She felt her vision begin to blur. The air was hot, saturated with inky black smoke, hanging in her lungs, sticking there like oil, like tar, like clay. She gasped, but breathing was painful now. It felt as if boiling water was being poured mercilessly down her throat, into her chest, left there to scald her aching skin. Her knees buckled and gave out, and she found herself lying face-down on the charred Persian rug.  
A little clear air wafted towards her. Kit felt her strength reviving. She pulled her torso up and managed to drag her arms and knees forward underneath her, crawling sluggishly towards the door from whence she had come.  
In a burst of vibrant yellow sparks, the beam of the door fell, flames now engulfing it. Undeterred, she changed direction, heading now for another smaller room that lead off of it. A crack resounded from within, most assuredly the sound of a gunshot. Through the smoke, she saw a figure fleeing the tiny room, hurling himself off the balcony that jutted out a few feet.  
Then another figure came into view, lying sprawled across the floor, blood spurting from any number of bullet wounds that seared through his chest. The man croaked something.  
"Kit."  
It was Jack .  
She took another gulp of air and stumbled towards him, grabbing him by the lapels of his waistcoat, dragging him towards the balcony. Suddenly she realized that hurling herself off of such a height was a risk in itself - but throwing Jack? Jack who was bleeding? That would end him for sure.  
He began to cough, a dry, death-marked, hacking cough, his chest contorting violently, causing more blood to flow. Kit leaned her forehead against his shoulder, closed her eyes and prayed for help, prayed for a miracle.  
And God was listening.  
Kenneth raced into the smokey room, his eyes landing immediately on the pair, huddled together a few strides from the balcony. Jack's coughing had subsided to a rhythmic pattern of starved gasps, and Kit was leaning over him, trying to clot the wounds in his chest with a torn piece of dress fabric.  
"Kit!" Kenneth called. She squinted at him through the smoke. "Come on, I'll get you out of here!" He grabbed her forearm.  
"Help me with him!" She croaked.  
Kenneth looked down at his ill-fated friend, a pained look in his eyes. He tried again to pull her to her feet. "There's no time!"  
"Please!" Kit cried desperately, tears welling up in her heat-scalded eyes. "Please, help me! When my life was reduced to ashes, he pulled me from it. I cant leave him, not here, not now!"  
The doorway behind them collapsed in flames. The balcony was now their only escape. Kenneth looked at Kit seriously. There was a long pause. He grabbed Jack roughly by the legs, Kit cradling his head. They stumbled out onto the balcony, and Kenneth muttered something Kit did not quite catch, though she was certain it had been something to the affect of "I'll jump first, then you lower him down to me."   
She nodded, and watched through the dark, inky air as Kenneth stumbled out of the window and to the firm, cool grass that lay beneath it.  
After Jack had been safely laid upon the ground, Kit hurled herself off of the now scalding wrought iron railing and hit the ground with a thump. She wasted no time, but ran over to where Jack was lying and helped Kenneth drag him farther away from the blazing house.  
Once they were at a safe enough distance, Kit stood back and let Kenneth examine the wounds. He lifted the cloth Kit had been using to stop the blood and sighed, shoulders slumped in relief. "The wounds are clotting." He said tiredly. "From what I can tell, he was shot once in the chest and once just shy of his shoulder. It'll take time, but I expect he'll heal up right good."  
Kit nodded, trusting Kenneth's advice only because she knew he had been a part of virtually every uprising or revolt in his generation. Not that there had been all that many. "Thank you."  
Kenneth tilted her chin up with his thumb and forefinger. He smiled at her. "Consider your debt repaid."   
Kit felt a surge of almost unbearable gratitude well up inside of her. She watched as Kenneth turned and headed back to his own apartment, and suddenly she could no longer contain the urge to call after him. "Kenneth!" He turned and glanced back at her. She smiled. "You're a good man."  
He swept her a bow, rounded the bend in the narrow streets, and was gone with the rest of his men, their attack morphed into a retreat, as these skirmishes always did. A cheap, almost cowardly aversion of conventional warfare - that was their tact. Though honourable it was not, practical it had more than proven to be.  
Kit turned her attentions back to the now half-conscious Jack. She slid her arms underneath his and dragged him in the direction of his apartment, having to pause every thirty seconds or so to catch her breath, some smoke still lingering in her lungs. Jack mumbled something inaudible, his eyes staying closed.   
"Shhh..." Kit soothed. "You'll be alright." She grabbed him again and dragged him further. It was a slow and tedious process that finally brought her to the steps of the walk-up apartment a quarter-hour later. She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled for Emmaleanna to come help.  
The girl rushed eagerly out of her home, eyes widening at the sight of her brother, coated from head to foot in a mixture of mud, soot, and blood. "What's he done?" Emmaleanna demanded as she grabbed his legs and stumbled up the steps, following Kit.  
"He's gone and gotten himself shot by the landlord." Kit explained. They laid him out across the bed. Emmaleanna leaned over him fearfully, Kit rushed outside to fill a basin of water from the well.  
Jack began to stir. His eyes opened and he stared up at his sister affectionately, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Emmaleanna." He mumbled.  
"Stay with me, Jack." She smiled back at him, biting off the urge to cry.  
"Oh Emmaleanna..." His voice was weak and breathy, his speech interrupted by wheezing. "...take good care of yourself, now wont you, girl?"  
Kit rushed back in with the water and a soaked cloth. She wrung it out over the basin and placed it gingerly on Jack's wounds.  
He winced. "Christ, woman, couldn't you let me die in peace?"  
"I'm not your woman." Kit re-soaked the cloth and moved on to the next wound.   
Jack let out another cry of pain. "Ouch! That's not helping, you know!"  
"Oh shut up." Kit snapped. "Stop being such a baby. You're not going to die, Jack." She turned to Emmaleanna. "Could you go fetch the doctor?"  
"Sure." The young girl dashed from the apartment with all the speed characteristic of her youth.  
"I might die." Jack croaked defensively after the door had clicked shut. "And then whatever would poor Catriona do?"  
"I might go marry Kenneth." Kit shot back, a hint of a smile curling at the ends of her lips. Her hands wrung out the cloth one last time and she replaced it on the shoulder wound.  
"Christ! Bloody-" He hissed in pain.  
"Baby." Kit muttered. "Why I'm helping you I have no idea."  
Jack smiled. "Lucky me. Injured with my beautiful lady as my nurse and savoir."  
The door swung open and Emmaleanna entered, a frail-looking old man following her. The man made his way over to the bed and bent over Jack in a very business-like manner. He studied his patient for a few moments before turning his attentions to Kit.  
"You the brains of this operation?" He barked in a gruff, husky voice.   
"Well, I... guess." She stammered.  
"Here." He handed her a half-empty glass bottle of what smelled like old ale. "Clean his wounds with this. Twice a day for two weeks. And don't let him out of bed until then." He gave a raspy cough and hobbled out of the room.  
Kit turned to Jack, who was grinning foolishly. She frowned. "What's the joke I'm not getting?"   
"You'll have to look after me for the next two weeks." He said pointedly.  
Kit rolled her eyes. "Eajet." She wet her cloth with whisky and applied it to Jack's wounds.  
Not even the stinging that followed could banish his grin.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: **

Kit drew her arms tight around her shivering body as she stepped out onto the muddy narrow street. The late afternoon wind toyed playfully with her scarlet hair, tossing it over her eyes and dancing around her black skirts. She closed her eyes, lungs taking in the full, sweet musk of the crisp seaside air.  
For a woman who made her living off of death, a revolt was not necessarily a bad thing. It had managed to pay for the rent, at least, which was now Kit, Jack, and Emmaleanna's top priority due to the immobility of Jack. Keening jobs paid well, though Emmaleanna was still under obligation to bring in a little income to compensate for where Kit's wages did not completely foot the bill. As far as meals, they had managed to scrimp by on the generosity of neighbours, friends, and, of course, the occasional theft, courtesy of Emmaleanna.  
"Kit!" A familiar voice met her ears over the sweet keen of the wind. "Kit!"   
She turned into the wind, squinting against the sunset in the direction of the sound. Her eyes recognized the figure of the man who sat atop a rather shabby-looking horse-drawn buggy.  
"Hello, Kenneth." She smiled.  
He jumped down from his seat, boots squelching in the thick black mud. "I've got myself a horse and buggy."  
She nodded. "I can see that."  
"Want a ride?"  
Kit's red locks slipped in front of her playful green eyes. "That's alright, Kenneth. I don't have far to walk."   
"Ah, come on!" He pleaded. "Where's the fun of me getting a new hitch for my old mule if I cant chauffeur pretty ladies around?"  
Kit rolled her eyes. "Well how can I scorn such flattery?"  
"Then you'll ride?"  
She smiled a little half-smile. "Sure."  
Kenneth extended his hand and helped her up onto the weathered wooden seat, swinging himself up after her. "Which way, milady?"  
"Jack's apartment."  
"Still living in that dump?"  
She shrugged. "The price is right." And then, with a small, twisted smile, "Well, almost."  
"Curraig way of life, isn't it?" Kenneth smiled. The ancient horse started in the direction of Jack's place. "I see you at the graveyard a lot- what are you, resident ghost?"  
Kit laughed, much to Kenneth's inner delight. "I'm a keener."  
"_Sunshine_." He teased. There was a pause, not an awkward or tense sort of silence, just a silence, plain and simple. Kenneth glanced at Kit for a brief moment. "So, you and Jack... what's the goings-on there, aye?"  
"No goings-on, I assure you." Kit said, eyes locking with his for a moment. "He needs a nurse and I need a place to stay. Mutual friendship, I guess."  
"And how's Jack faring with his injuries?" They were nearing the apartment.   
"He'll live." She said. "Thanks to you." Kit smiled warmly at him. "You saved my life. And Jack's life. I owe you." And then, without so much as a thought to her actions, acting solely on impulse, as young love is so taken to doing, she leaned across the rickety seat and kissed him lightly. His lips responded immediately, and for a few seconds, Kit felt a sort of... happiness. A sort of simplicity.  
Because that kiss did not demand of her what her life always had- her respect, her allegiance, or even herself. It was, for Kit, a few precious moments in which politics, economics, misery, and brokenheartedness did not prey upon her.  
They pulled apart. She smiled again. "Thanks for the ride."  
And before Kenneth could so much as entertain the idea of helping her down off the seat, she was sweeping her skirts into her hands and dashing up the walk-up steps, into the doorway of her apartment. He watched her go until she was out of sight, then kicked the old mule into a lethargic trot and swept around the winding streets, a daft smile pasted on his face.  
Kit pushed open the door and barely had enough time to halt her hurried pace at the sight of Jack standing right by the doorway.  
Jack _standing_.  
"What in the name of all that's Holy are you doing out of bed?" She demanded.  
Jack smiled. "Feeling better."  
"I see that." Her hands pressed against his chest and she pushed him back towards his shabby-looking bed. "But I don't care how you feel, you're staying abed."  
"How much longer must I endure your perpetual concern?" He asked grumpily as she backed him right into the blankets.  
"Three days." Kit undid her red sash and removed her scraggly black shawl. "And I'm sticking to it. Do as I say or I'll have your head."  
"Well that's not very nice."  
She sighed and turned towards him. "Hold on a sec, I need to change." Kit ducked behind the door to the bedroom. "You know, for being such a pain, I'm really beginning to like you, Jack."  
"Same goes." He replied, resisting the urge to chuck his pillow at her. She could be very overbearing sometimes, he thought. "Though I've been wondering if you might help me a little by clarifying something."   
"What would that be?" She pulled her dress off over her head and struggled into a lighter, airier pale chemise and skirt.  
He rolled over onto his side and surveyed her rail-thin form briefly. She was a bit scrawny, not exactly pretty, but something about her... He felt suddenly intimidated. His question changed. "Kit, what did you think of Kenneth?"  
"_Kenneth_?" She shrugged, but her lips felt as if they were burning red-hot with the testimony that told of that one brief kiss. "He's... helpful."   
Jack didn't quite know what to make of this. "Helpful?"   
"Well..." Kit sighed. "He saved both our lives back at the house…" What could she say? It wasn't as if that was a feat to be sniffed at. "He's a gentleman."  
There was a soft knock on the door. Jack sat up and propped himself up against the headboard. "Come in." Kit called sweetly.  
The door creaked open and Kenneth entered, his face still alight with a simple grin. "Jack, how you faring, man?" He called to his friend.   
Jack shrugged. "Cant complain. Miss Overbearing Daemon here forbids it." He motioned to the girl standing a few feet away from him.  
Kenneth turned towards her and smiled. "Hello, Kit."  
"Hello Kenneth." She gave a slight cordial nod, but her eyes glimmered secretively. Her attentions turned back to Jack. "I am not an overbearing daemon, Jack. You be thankful- if it weren't for me you'd be stark dead right now!"  
"Never argue with a woman." Kenneth advised. "Leastways not a witty one like yours here."  
"I'm not _his _woman or anyone else's." Kit defended. "I belong to one person- me."  
"Not even Jesus would be good enough for you, aye Kit?" Kenneth asked teasingly.  
She laughed. "Of course I'm subject to God. He and any other man who can give me everything in one breath and blow it all away with another."  
Kenneth scoffed. "Then you buy into all that creation garbage, do you?"  
"Well if you can give me a better explanation…?"  
"Fluke of fate." Jack muttered bitterly.  
Kit shot him a sideways glance. "You don't think you're more than that?" Pause. "You don't think your _life's_ worth more than that?"  
"Life is sparked and snuffed out within a single breath." His eyes bored determinedly into the floor. "The rest of the universe hardly notices. What difference does one life make?"  
"One life?" Kit gulped. "One life can change the rest of the universe! One life can-"  
"I hate to interrupt a debate -" Kenneth put in. "- but I was wondering if I might steal away your lovely nurse for a drink or two, Jack Sparrow?"  
"Anything to shut her up." Jack shrugged, sinking down amid his worn blankets.  
"Kit?" Kenneth asked.  
She smiled. "I wish I could, but I don't think I can leave this simpleton by his lonesome." Her eyes still sparked mischievously. "Some other time?"  
Kenneth nodded. "There's always another day." And he turned out of the cramped little apartment into the now night time sky, clicking the door shut behind him.  
"No drinking for the poor Kit." Jack teased.  
Kit scowled. "I happen to be a little tired, my being the sole breadwinner in this house and all."  
"Ah." He shoved a few blankets onto her rug as Kit plunked herself down on the floor. "No interest in Kenneth?"  
"Some." Kit murmured. "Not enough to lose sleep over." She closed her eyes and immediately a wave of relief washed over her. Her mind began to wander, to muse, and finally, to dream...

_The cemetery was enveloped in a thick fog of darkness. Far away, she could hear gunshots, cannons, explosions of sorts. A shiver ran up and down her spine. It was cold out. It was very cold. She was numb.  
Kit glanced down, reassuring herself that her body was still there. To her surprise, she was clothed in her keening gown, red sash and all. She looked up.  
There was a figure standing in front of her now, robed in white, face obscured by a large, drooping hood. It was a woman, though Kit was not sure how she knew this. The woman reached out a bony, emaciated hand and beckoned to her with one thin, jagged finger.  
Kit stepped back. She did not want to go to this woman…  
_  
She woke with a start. Her body was covered in a film of sweat, her breath coming hard and quick. She shook her head rigorously, trying to rid her mind of such thoughts. Her eyelids drooped tiredly. She lay her head back down again...

_The woman was coming towards her now, with slow, even, practiced strides. Kit wanted to run away, but her feet felt cemented in place. She looked down at them, and realised that she was ankle-deep in a pool of blood.   
"Catriona!" Jack was calling her from far away. "I cant see you! I cant get to you, where have you gone?"  
She opened her mouth to call back, but no sound came out, save for a low, reptilian hiss. The woman's frail hand grasped Kit's wrist and latched on with an iron grip.  
"Don't worry." Came a voice from within the hood. "He cant see you. Come with me…"  
The voice was cold and haunting, almost echoing. It chilled her blood to hear it, its rattling, throaty timbre resounding like the howl of the wind, like the song of a keener.  
But the keen held something of beauty to it. This voice was hideous.  
_  
Kit sat up in bed and scrunched her eyes closed and then open again. These dreams had to stop... she had to be reasonable... Her head was heavy. It sank back down into the flattened pillow.

_"You're not dreaming, Catriona." The woman continued. "This is truth, _Keener_, this is what's real… Truth means this is real, _Keener_…"   
Then the hand on her wrist changed, going from frail and feminine to a strong masculine grip. The voice changed, the person standing before her changed, and from within the hood came Jack's voice.   
"Life is sparked and snuffed out within a single breath." His grip tightened on her wrist. "The rest of the universe hardly notices. What difference does one life make?"  
_  
"Kit!" Jack's hands shook her by the shoulder. "Kit!" She startled awake again, this time not by her own accord but by the man who was sitting up in the bed beside her. Jack smiled. "Shhh, its alright... you were having a nightmare."  
"Was I?" She managed dryly between breaths. "I didn't notice."  
Jack stared at her a moment. The moonlight had stretched it's silvery beams in through the single foggy pane of glass and was setting off interesting effects on her scarlet hair that now hung in messy strands about her face. "You were just dreaming. Go back to sleep."  
In the cool light of the night, Jack looked, to Kit, so much like the figure from her dream that she had to bite her lip and tell herself silently that he was not out to kill her. She smiled, though it was painfully obvious how forced this gesture was.   
"Goodnight, Jack."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: **

"The time has come to make our real attack." Kenneth paced up and down the length of the room with fervent conviction. "We've proven our might to ourselves and the local tyrants 'round here - it's time we stopped doubting this cause. This is a matter of pride, of vengeance, of what's right!"  
"Are you mad, man?" Jack stared at his friend in disbelief. "What do we have that they don't have twice over? I'll tell you what! Not guns, not bullets, _not nothing_, that's what!"  
"We have _justice_!" Kenneth stomped his foot passionately, ignoring the fact that any such gesture of conviction caused the entire structure to shake. "We have clear conscience, something our adversaries couldn't boast if they tried!"  
"You call turning children into orphans and wives into widows _justice_, Kenneth?" An accusing female voice cut in.  
The men turned to find the source of the newfound interruption standing near the doorway. Kit glared at Kenneth defiantly, hand on hip, her mane of red hair draped proudly down her back.  
Kenneth sighed. It was so hard to argue with someone so completely certain. He couldn't describe the strange air of concreteness that Kit held about her. She was strangely solid. There was something about her that made him burn with conviction for this cause, despite the fact that she opposed him all the while.  
"Kit, these homes were built with blood money stolen from our people - _your _people, in case you've forgotten!" He paused. "Have you no loyalty? Have you no pride?"  
"I have loyalty." Her voice was cool and emotionless, but Kenneth could hear that she was building to something. "I also have a heart. Do you have one, Kenneth, or did you forget on your crusade?" She paused a moment. "You're as good as a bloody undertaker, you are."  
"They starve us, Kit!" He couldn't believe her sometimes. "They steal our beds out from under us and then pretend they cant hear our children cry at night." If malevolence was ever seen or heard, it was in Kenneth, in his voice, hanging desperately in his eyes.  
"Kenneth," Kit's voice was softer now. "you've forgotten just who they are." He started to say something, but she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "They have been dealt with. They were taken care of that night up at the mansion, when, might I remind you, the life of your best friend came perilously close to ending." Jack turned his gaze from the worn floorboards to Kit, watching her intently as she spoke. "The fact that a few of them have starved our village to the breaking does not give you the right to hold it against an entire people!"  
There were a few beats of silence. Tense silence.  
"Kenneth," Jack's voice was startlingly calm, considering the heated debate that had just manifested between his two comrades. "if you're dead set on taking Lough manor, I'm not going to desert you. But _for God Almighty's sake_, please at least consider peace."  
Kenneth shook his head slowly. "Tell the tyrants that."  
"Jack?" Kit's voice trembled as she spoke. "Jack, you're not going to - you cant! You cant go with him - the danger, you might get hurt, I…" She trailed off and dropped her pleading gaze to the fabric of her skirts.  
Jack lifted her chin gently with two rough fingers. Kit tried to avoid looking into his eyes, deep, dark pools of warmth that managed to wrench her very soul out from where it hid, beneath her tough exterior. _Too late_, she thought, as his gaze met hers.   
"Kit," Jack's voice was very soft, measured, and gentle. He was calm, even though he could feel her trembling. "If I made my choices by my feelings, I couldn't call the life I'm living honourable, or even fair. My people need me."  
"But-" Kit's voice dropped to something of a whisper, though Kenneth could still hear her. "…_I_ need you too."  
Kenneth's mouth fell open. Jack just stared.  
Kit felt a deep red blush begin to spread over her pale features. "So you'll go?" She looked up again, hoping her face did not betray the anguished thoughts of her heart.   
Jack nodded.  
That seemed enough for the somewhat overzealous Kenneth. "Wonderful! Great, then!" He resumed his passionate pacing. "It takes three days to get to Lough Manor from Curraig. The landlord there knows more about the lives of earthworms than that of his own people. He needs to learn." Kenneth paused, smiling cynically. "And we're going to teach him."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine:**

"_Please_."

The word sounded desperately hushed, uttered into the empty darkness of the Sparrow apartment. The single syllable fell heavily on Jack's ears, and he felt his heart twinge as it did so.

Kit sat up from her makeshift bed, a mat on the floor next to where Jack slept. "Please. _Please_, Jack..."

He rolled over onto his side to face her, barely making out her form in the obscurity of the night. A tiny sliver of moonlight had snuck in through the crack where the door did not fully close over, falling faintly across Kit's pained face. Her eyes were glistening.

The pair were silent for a moment. Then Jack spoke.

"Did you mean it? What you said earlier today, I mean."

Kit swallowed past a lump in her throat. "I really wish you wouldn't go. I meant it."

Jack rose and stumbled awkwardly across the room. He fished a matchbook off of the stool in the corner. "I meant -" He struck the match and lit the tiny stub of a candle that they had been using for light. "- the other thing you said. About... about needing me."

Kit looked up at him. In the faint candlelight, she could make out the bullet wounds, still healing, on his chest. Shirtless, standing there in the low, warm light, Jack looked less like a scrappy boy from Curraig and more like... Kit pushed the thought out of her mind. She turned her attentions back to his question. "Of course." Jack sank down into his bed again, and without thinking, Kit climbed in after him. She took his face in her hands and gently lifted his chin. "You _saved _my _life_, Jack. Of course I need you."

A look of disappointment crossed his face. "Oh." He turned away.

Kit frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Jack's voice was muffled by the pillow he had half-buried his head in, under the pretense of trying to sleep. "I just thought that maybe you meant that you... something else. Meant something else, I mean."

Kit shuffled closer to his form. "Jack, I -"

Immediately he turned back to face her. "Kit?"

"I do care about you."

And before she could think of what to say next, Kit felt herself swept up in a strong, warm embrace. Jack held her against him tightly. The tears that had glistened in Kit's eyes before were now escaping down her pale cheeks. She sniffed.

Jack pulled back. "What's wrong?" And when she did not answer, "Kit? Kit, please tell me... Catriona..."

She gasped, and all of the tears that had been pushing behind her eyes came flooding out. Jack wrapped his arms around her again, this time cradling her head against his chest. "Oh Jesus... Kit? Don't cry, stop crying... please?"

"It's just -" Kit croaked between sobs. "- I don't want to lose you. Jack, I..."

He looked down at the quivvering form in his arms. She looked up at his warm face in the candle light. With a rough, worn finger, Jack wiped away the tears that slicked her cheeks, and smiled weakly. She smiled back.

And then he bent his head and kissed her.

* * *

Please, please, please review!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: **

The lush green grass blew softly in the late summer breeze. Kit glanced over at Jack from where she lay on her belly behind a worn and weathered grey boulder. He was her sole reason for joining this madness. If he were to be hurt or, God forbid, killed on this mission, she wanted to be there. For what, she did not know, but she still wanted it.  
The Manor loomed ahead of her, tall, menacing, protected by a forbidding archway and a handful of armed sentries. There was something desolate about this green. Kit could hear the cries of past struggles here, she could feel the fallen glory of brothers fighting brothers, of beings who had died for their dreams. Fighting the same fight she was here to bleed for today. The cries of the dead seemed louder in their silence than any other sound on earth. It was the eeriest feeling in the world, and it didn't last very long.  
A single gunshot rang out across the field. It left behind it a split-second of total silence. Then, all around her, the world exploded. Rebels screamed, guns fired, and people pushed past her in a desperate attempt to flee a part of the hideout that was being blasted away by cannon fire. In one smooth motion she dove from behind the boulder, her actions just missing the 'too late' mark by a hair. As she wriggled on her stomach under the cover of the grass, she could smell the smoke now billowing from the charred remains of the lush, waxy grass.  
Her first though was of Jack. She opened her eyes, ignoring the stinging thick black smoke, and scanned the area for any sign of him.  
Nothing.  
But there was no time. She had a part in this - it was all rehearsed. Even one person not there to do their job could jeopardize the entire operation, which was more a testament to their sparse numbers than to the intricacy of their strategy. The Landlord would fall today, and she had to be at the back balcony in order for it to happen.  
She dropped to the ground, a thumping shockwave pulsing in her chest. Arms folded awkwardly underneath her smoke-stained torso, Kit wriggled through the green as shots whizzed excitedly over her head, grazing past her hair by glass-shard misses.  
Something latched onto her right arm. She turned to see Kenneth lying beside her. He gave her an excited, sardonic half-smile, as if this were the greatest game he'd ever discovered. Kit smiled back and continued her ground-level wriggle towards the great mansion. Kenneth, with his daft grin and adrenaline-pumped demeanour, reminded her of a little schoolboy amid a game of manhunt, knowing for near certain that he had chosen the best players for his team.  
A cloud of dust went flying as a cannon ball hit the turf only a meter or so in front of her. Her heart stopped for a moment, leaping in her chest, before she reassured herself it was only controlled friendly fire. The snipers that Kenneth and the other leaders had posted were almost more trouble than they were worth.  
Almost.  
She could see Lough Manor closely now, about ten or so meters away, looking frightened as a building could possibly look, or perhaps it was simply her victorious mindset and vivid imagination painting faces the sterile brick siding.  
The ground underneath her changed- the grass became gravel, the dirt became dust, and there before her was a massive rod-iron trellis with a great curtain of ivy creeping up it. She grabbed hold of the cool metal weave-work and hauled herself up, Kenneth following suit behind her. A few heart-stopping seconds later she was standing, feet planted firmly on the solid stone floor of the backdoor balcony. Kenneth dropped onto his knees beside her, and Kit took the hint and flattened herself in behind the railing to keep out of view.  
There was no escape for the residents of Lough now.  
But Kit had duties apart from ensuring that nobody escaped out the balcony. Kenneth would hold her post as she made her way out across the ledge to jam the last door shut. Or at least that was the plan thus far.  
She got up and flattened herself against the gritty brick wall, inching her way along, trying to ignore the crack of rifles overhead. Her feet slowly slid their way over to the next balcony, just around the corner, just out of view. There was a small, pitiful sound coming from her destination, drifting up feebly amidst the hollow din of battle.  
It wasn't until Kit had her feet firmly planted on the tiled floor of the terrace that she was actually able to turn her head and search for the source of the sound.  
"Please don't stew me up in a pot." The little girl's voice was thin and fragile, quivering and chocked with sobs. She was trembling with fear, right down to her shop-shiny black Sunday shoes which were clipped soundly to her feet.  
Somehow, shoes had always incensed Kit.  
Shoes that would've paid our rent for a month - at least!  
Her face was dirty and smeared with soot, save for where tears had left little trails that let her natural skin colour slip through. She looked to be five years old at the most, her honey-coloured ringlets looking glossy, were they not smoke-stained, along with what must have been a very expensive silk dress.  
"I promise I'll be good." She continued. "Please don't stew me up in a cauldron, please!" Her proper grammar and pronunciation stood out in Kit's ears like a lone daffodil in a wide open green.  
"Make you into a stew?" Kit was confused. "Why would I do that?"  
"B-b-because you're from Curraig…" She stammered fearfully. "They says the villagers make children into stew."  
"They -?"  
"My big sister."  
Kit suddenly felt a wave of compassion for this poor child. Her orders were ringing in the back of her mind, that she was to let no one person escape the home, that she was to jam the door and trap them in what would soon be an inferno. But this was only a child…  
"Here," Kit took the blubbering girl by the hand and lead her over to the trellis. "climb down and head for the garden shed." She pointed towards a meek little shanty on the edge of the property. "See?"  
The child nodded. "You're not hungry?"  
Kit couldn't help but smile. "I never liked stew."  
It wasn't until she had jammed the door and returned to the balcony from which she had come that Kit began to feel just a tiny bit guilty for defying orders. _But_, she reasoned, _it was just one child. Nobody will care about a single child, not really. What difference does one life make?  
_She shook her head, lips twisting in an ironic half-smile.  
I sound like Jack.  
She dropped down onto the balcony and smiled at Kenneth. "One successful mission, aye?"  
He nodded. "No odds, I knew you could do it, girl."  
"So did I." She teased. "Though I have my doubts as to _you_."  
He laughed. Slowly the lines on his face became softer and his grin turned more serious. "Kit, about yourself and Sparrow… I s'pose I should just ask you outright, but do you care for the bastard?"  
She nodded automatically, then afterwards began to inwardly question her actions. To love is like to breathe - it needs no thought. Love is the natural state of the human heart - prejudice is born of ignorance, and hate learned from example. Jealousy grows from circumstance, and spite from adversity, but only love comes second-nature.  
"I love him." She whispered, more to herself than to Kenneth.  
He nodded good naturedly, though, Kit noted, he looked as if he were about to hurl. "I'll keep out of the man's way, then. And best of luck, Godspeed you both."  
Kit smiled. She lay her head against the cold stone rail and let the patient firing of cannons soothe her mind. A strange soothing.  
_I love him.  
_A distant smash.  
_I love him_.  
A far-away crumble of bricks.  
_I love him._  
A loud crack resounded and the balcony shook from underneath them. Kit felt her skull dash roughly against the rail. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut as a sharp but fleeting pain surged through her head and neck. Opening her eyes, Kit saw Kenneth leaning over her, and suddenly she became aware that she was lying down. She had fallen over onto her back.  
Kenneth stared at her in horror. For a moment, she did not understand. Then she felt something wet trickle down the back of her neck. She reached her hand up and felt the warm liquid spill onto her hand. Kit held her palm in front of her.  
It was red with blood.  
Kit stared at it a moment, then at Kenneth. His eyes were fixed on her in a look of sheer terror, his mouth slightly agape. The cannons continued, but they seemed quieter now. Or perhaps it was just that they no longer mattered.  
Nothing mattered anymore except the blackness that was growing around Kit like a dense, inky cloud. Kenneth knew what was happening to her; he had seen this look before. He had to keep her conscious.  
Had to, had to, had to.  
"Kenneth..." Kit breathed weakly, "Do you think… do you think you could… lie my head down…?" She blinked painfully. "I feel _dizzy_…" Kenneth took her gently in his arms and laid her head back across his jacket which was lying, folded like a cushion on the hard stone floor of the terrace. Kit sighed. "Ah… I wonder at it, but do you know - now I feel happy…"  
"Kit?" Kenneth called to her, trying to keep her awake, at least until he could get a doctor to her. "Kit…where are you from?" He knew it was a sad excuse for conversation, but this was one of his staple lines when talking to women, and he was not really used to using it on dying women…

_No, not dying… Not dying, God no…  
_"I…" Her voice was thin, frail, and breathy. "My parents… from a little town called Deevna… where I was born… You?"  
"Always been in Curraig. Or at least near it." He tore a long strip of white cloth from his shirt and wrapped it around her head gingerly. "You're accent doesn't sound like a Deevna girl."  
"I grew up…" A sharp, raspy cough escaped her mouth, making her chest rattle and contort violently. "In Curraig… in the house… adopted mother… we got… got turned out on our arses…" Again the coughing came - a cold, hollow death-rattle.  
"Didn't we all." He smiled, then felt a surge of fear coarse through him as her eyes fluttered closed. Small-talk wasn't working. He needed something better. Something more extreme. "Uh… Jack… So… where is the bastard?"  
Her eyes flew open. "Oh Jesus! Oh God! Where… I don't know where…"  
"Shhh!" He hadn't meant to upset her. "I'm sure he's fine… Shhh…"  
Kit relaxed a little. "Yes." She said, more to herself than to anyone else. "Yes, he's fine. He can look out for himself… Kenneth?"  
"Aye?"  
"Do you mind… if I just… rest my eyes a while?" Her eyelids closed without waiting for an answer.  
"Kit?" Kenneth's voice quivered a little. "Keep talking to me, Kit."  
"Mm?"  
"Do you love Jack?" He was desperate to keep her awake.  
"I do…" She breathed, and a small, blissful smile brightened her lips.  
He knew now that only argument or confrontation would hold her attentions. He had to take the hard road. "Why?" Kenneth croaked feebly, trying hard to sound demanding but missing the mark by a mile.  
"Because…" She coughed and her chest began to thrash and rattle. "Because he's… good."  
She wasn't even paying attention to him. He needed to be more indiscreet. "So are lots of people you don't love. Are they bad?"  
Kit's eyes flickered, but stayed closed. "No… they're good, Kenneth."  
There was a long, formidable pause.  
"So?" He pried.  
She said simply; "It's Jack I love. Oh… I love him because he's so… awful. Horrible. And sweet. And wonderful. And terrible. Oh, I don't know what for."  
There was a muffled scuffling sound coming from the room that lead in off the terrace. Kenneth noticed it immediately. "One minute." He said to the restful Kit. "I'm going to see who's in there."  
"Hurry back." She breathed wearily.  
In her half-sleep, Kit smiled. She felt strangely… warm. Her body was sound, her heart content, her soul at peace.  
She had comfort, for she knew now that Jack had been wrong.  
_What difference does one life make? _  
This didn't mean nothing. Her life had meaning, even if her death didn't. Her dying wouldn't change the revolt, and nobody would write about her in the great chronicles of war. But that didn't take away from what her life meant, from who she was.  
A life, in all definition, after all research and debate, after every scholar has analysed it to the very bone, after being examined and re-examined, and studied to the core, _is just a life_. That's all there is to it.  
Kit sighed. The sound of the violence was fading along with the feeling of cool wind on her cheek.  
And then suddenly her lungs were still, and her coughing, all her pain, any misery she had ever harboured, was gone.  
The smell of salty Curraig air nipped at her nostrils, and a cool sea spray was grazing over her skin. Somewhere close by, she could hear Miss Leda and her children laughing. She could hear mother singing softly as she had when Kit was a child.  
She was home now, floating somewhere between Curraig, Deevna, and Jack's arms- everywhere and nowhere all at once. And then, in an instant, she knew she had to leave this place.  
_My time here is all spent. _  
Kit opened her eyes and looked into her Father's face.

* * *

Contrary to what you may think, this is not the last chapter. I'd love some reviews, since I haven't gotten any since I first posted this thing. Thanks,

-SQ


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: **

Kenneth took to his feet and pried open the glass door gingerly, being careful to keep his movements quiet and discreet. He poked his head into the dark room and glanced around. The silhouette of a tall, somewhat scrawny man loomed in the doorway. Kenneth's hand tightened on the grip of his gun. He was ready to fight.  
The figure in the doorway moved closer, and suddenly, a split second's light reflection revealed his face. A pale face, a thin face, and above all, a familiar face.  
"Jack?"   
"Kenneth." Jack's shoulders slumped with relief. He clapped his friend on the shoulder amiably. "Where's Kit?"  
The listener's face fell. "She's out on the balcony… Sparrow, she doesn't look good."  
Jack's eyes darkened. "What happened?"   
"Something hit her." Kenneth stared at his feet. "She's bleeding right bad. Jack… she's not going to last."  
It all seemed so simple when he said it aloud.  
"Where is she?" He inquired.  
Kenneth nodded somberly to the door that lead out onto the balcony. Jack walked out, speechless. He knelt down beside her limp form.  
"Kit?" His voice was soft and honeyed. "Kit?" Jack cradled her bleeding head and stroked her cheek gently. She did not appear to respond. "Kit, it's Jack."  
That was when Kenneth knew, even if his friend did not. Kit was _in love_. She would have awoken at the sound of Jack's voice, at his touch, at the mention of his name. But she wasn't moving. She wasn't waking.  
She wasn't there at all.  
"Kit?" Jack's tone became more urgent. "Kit? Answer me, Kit! Wake up! He jostled her head a little. "Wake up!" He slammed his fist down onto the cold stone floor. "Bloody hell, Kit!" Tears were streaming down his rough, weathered cheeks. "Wake up… _please_!"   
Kenneth sighed. He knelt down beside the lifeless body and felt for a pulse in her wrist, then in her neck.  
Nothing.  
He stared at her corpse intensely. "She was talking just a minute ago… she was talking to me… she was going to hang on. I don't even think she knew…" His voice cut off as he stifled a sob.  
Jack bent his forehead to rest against her own. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he really tried, maybe if he stopped listening to everything around him - the shells, the cannons, the bayonets cracking overhead - maybe then she would wake up. She would sit up and smile at him, ask him if he was okay. They'd tease each other and argue too much, and then when all the fighting was over, she would return to Curraig with him. And he'd finally be able to tell her the truth about everything - that he hadn't been looking for a way out of Curraig, not since he had met _her_. That he wanted simply to stay there with her… She couldn't be gone, she just couldn't. It didn't seem possible that something so vibrant, so beautiful, so full of life, could really have expired from this world, the same way it doesn't seem possible to snuff out a raging bonfire in a single breath, and have only a curl of smoke linger after it. As if it were nothing but a penny-candle on a breezy window sill.  
Kenneth got to his feet slowly, with air of a man dazed by a world that rages around him too fast to fathom. He could hear the battle roaring all around him now, his ears were opened again to the cries of his people. His suffering, dying people.  
Kit was dead.  
But Kit was just another insurrectionist chasing a silly dream. She hardly mattered, really. History books would record her as just another number in just another rising that yesterday feared and tomorrow forgot. Her grave would be one of those unmarked prison graves where moss and weeds swirl around like waves on rocky Curraig's shore. She was nothing anymore. Nobody would remember Kit… Catriona… Kenneth couldn't remember her last name.  
Clearing his throat, Kenneth tried with a small wince to shake off these thoughts as they chased each other up and down the hollow corridors of his mind. "Which side is winning?" He croaked feebly.  
Jack did not even glance at the speaker, but remained crumpled there on the floor. He lifted his forehead from that of his beloved, hers which had lost all colour and vibrancy, and stared out a mourning, hundred-yard stare across the greens of Lough Manor.  
"It doesn't matter anymore."


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue: **

The revolt failed.  
Of the three-hundred rebels and idealist fighters who charged Lough Manor, twenty-six made it out with their lives. Jack and Kenneth were among them.  
Kit was not.   
The survivors returned to their homes, injured and beaten, their ideals crushed, only to meet with ridicule and mockery. They were branded as cowards by their fellow man. Some, like Kenneth, bit the bullet and persevered through the heckling and jeering, clinging desperately to what felt right.  
But others couldn't take it. Jack, for one, had lost something in that rebellion that he could never get back; he had lost a kindred soul, a like spirit, a true friend. She hadn't died in his arms the way the great adventure stories would have it, she didn't miraculously awaken at the sound of his voice, she didn't have some stirring and touching speech as her last words; she died, and that was all.  
That in itself was the worst part; she simply _died_. Her heart stopped beating. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her lungs ceased to fill themselves, her blood no longer flowed. She did not _sweep from this world_, nor did she _fly away_, _pass into darkness_, or _fall to shadow_. There was nothing poetic or beautiful about it - she was _dead_.  
The days turned to weeks, the weeks into months, all smearing together into a great grey blur, as in a painting where all the colours have bled into one another. After trying at length, Jack was able to find a ship that would take both himself and his sister far away from Curraig.  
Far away from his pain.  
Their departure was quiet. There was little to pack, nothing to pay off, and nobody to say farewell to. Jack toyed with the idea of paying Kit's grave a visit as a quiet, final farewell, but he soon thought the better of it. There wasn't the money or the time to travel all the way to Eudail, where she had been buried.  
And then, within a few days, the Sparrows were gone, their lives dissolving, like Kit's, into the wind, leaving behind nothing but the faint echo of a memory. A village heals its losses quickly, and to lose two young people is hardly noticed. It is humans, and humans alone, who feel this pain.   
But nobody did. Not even Kenneth, who was too distracted by his ideals to pay any attention to the "Vacancy" sign that hung derelict on the door of the lonely apartment that had once been the heart of his feverish plans. That empty two-room structure was the first of two seemingly meaningless footprints of what had once been.   
The other can be found on the edge of a rough, muddy green just outside Lough, in a town called Eudail. There, in the firm earth, one can distinguish the ghost of an old mound, tell-tale of a great upturning in the soil at one time or another. It was in this humble tract of land that Kit's limp and lifeless body was laid to rest, just below the twisted, gnarly roots of an ancient, weathered, moss-covered stump.  
In the spring, the daisies burst up all over the tiny hill, their dainty, smiling heads dancing in the ever-present chill of the wind. When it rains, the slivers of water trace their spindly fingers through the brittle blades of grass. Every so often, a robin takes up its duties and keens for she who is lost below.  
The site is never visited. It is lonely in that green that just borders Eudail, though none save for the birds and the sly red squirrels feel this loneliness. Nobody in the village visits the mound. They have no reason to - Kit was a stranger from far away, nobody knew her, her name, her story, even the things for which she died.  
And none ever will. Her grave is not marked. She is nothing now.  
Not even a name.


End file.
